


stars in your eyes

by mariafuckingcalavera



Category: RWBY
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Magpie Week (RWBY), Sad Ending, roman defects from cinder au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:40:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24200734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mariafuckingcalavera/pseuds/mariafuckingcalavera
Summary: His mother once said that your soulmate can translate the languages of your soul and make you feel alive, unscramble the pieces you know by heart to form the most breathtaking serenade.And that's how he made him feel.
Relationships: Qrow Branwen/Roman Torchwick, Roman Torchwick/Original Character(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 7





	stars in your eyes

**Author's Note:**

> hi!!! this is my fic for the third day of magpie week: soulmates/backstories!! i did a bit of both!! i hope you enjoy :D

Roman Torchwick was shattered glass in the moonlight.

He is the silver luminescence when it coats the fragmented shards, the despairing glow dripping from dangerous edges as broken stars lay waste on the sidewalk, sometimes coated in intoxicating liquid amber and gold but always finding silver sooner or later when the first remnants of the moon shone in the sky. Only beautiful after it's broken, the beauty found in the inner workings of the glass, of edges made existent.

And fuck, Roman has been broken too many times to count.

And if he's beautiful, he's certainly told he is: through the fingers that trail themselves down his collarbone, to the kisses that follow suit. Through the slide of clothes off scarred skin and the temporary satiation of a one night lover gone by morning, through the empty kisses and promises only heavy enough to fill the night, to highlight the moments of pleasure in between their bodies. He's told he's beautiful but it's all wrong, it's all in the wrong ways and he doesn't know it and he's so used to all the wrong ways until there's no other in emerald green eyes.

So he lets lips give him one last kiss as the night fades away, lives for the moments of vulnerability, lives for the day he finds someone who understands his soul like the back of their hands.

~~~

Lille was the first to ever understand.

It's three minutes to the witching hour when she asks him a question: simple, trivial, teasing as they lie in the small bed, entangled in each other. Mornings are filled with her yawns and complaints and his hums and smiles as he seemingly rises with absolutely no hesitation, and she wonders why. She wonders how someone can rise with the sun and only retreat into the recesses of sleep when the rest of their little world has fallen into slumber, and still awaken refreshed and ecstatic to start the day. She would understand if his schedule varied, if he didn't wake up to the same events and the same people, she would have understood if anything other than the greying, dull gravel paths of the farm was crushed underneath his boots. But it wasn't, and here he was without a single complaint, content to live out the rest of his days just like this.

"Why?" She asks curiously, and he chuckles. She'll never understand, he thought: that her life before she met him was a series of adventure, never knowing what you would wake up to next, each day a different dance as she waltzes the night away. He knew her life could not have been more different from his: whilst she found order in the constant chaos of her life, each moment brutal and surging as the tidal force gravity brought: violent, thrashing, blatantly obvious.

But when he did, he was hit with the biggest surprise of his life.

She understood.

She understood that his chaos was so much more subtle, that he finds peace not in the familiar dance with Huntsmen and weapon, but in the way the clouds change and morph to form a new masterpiece every day, bringing a serenity no words can even begin to describe, a peace that no one could even fathom. She understood that he looked forward to the difference in the shades of golden and amber hues that spilt through the windows every morning, all until the evening: the last rays sinking underneath the horizon as his siblings were called into the house for dinner. She understood the love he had for the little, simpler thing sin life: the buzzing life of conversations over the dinner table, the indistinct difference only he was observant enough to realize: how the morning light made the stars rain onto grassy fields, morning dew sparkling in the sunlight as the sunlight reflected off it just right, golden, dripping stars hanging off every blade of grass as they shone and twinkled in the light of the day.

So many little treasures were hidden in your day if you knew where to look, he had said to her as callused fingers threaded through her hair.

And she had called him a dork, but the next day she pointed out how the smallest duckling in the pond had finally learnt how to swim after weeks of being unable to.

His mother once said that your soulmate can translate the languages of your soul and make you feel alive, unscramble the pieces you know by heart to form the most breathtaking serenade.

And that's how Lille made him feel.

Lille was his first love and he remembered the feeling of falling in love too hard and too fast when he was 18, seeing every star in the world in her eyes.

But he was too starry-eyed with her love to notice those demons coming back to haunt them, tearing his world apart.

~~~

Qrow took twenty years to understand him.

Twenty years of sideway glances in the moonlight, of dents and cracks formed into his cane after every encounter just because of how aggressive he could be, how he fought with every ounce of light in his body, hope in hurried strikes and a cocky smile as deft fingers slicked raven hair back from his eyes. Twenty years of back and forth banter, of temporary tension absolved by midnight kisses and harsh breaths in hidden motels. Twenty years of smoke and amber as they find each other at their lowest, nadir situations and open wounds soothed without a word between them, understanding all they could from their usual dance, hearts always inches away from each other even when they weren't.

Twenty years of dancing around each other, beating around the bush.

Twenty years of being enemies with benefits.

And then Cinder told him what he was here to do. and everything he knew came crashing down.

"You want to...you want to _destroy_ Beacon Academy?"

He feels sick to his stomach, he feels dread and nausea creating a revolting concoction in the pit of her stomach as he imagines school floors stained red, kids only a few years younger than Neo lying dead in the hallways. He feels the bile and the anxiety rising in his throat until there's nothing left but the all-consuming feeling of pure horror, his hands shaking with the effort to keep it together. He knows he can't do this, he knows he has to do something before she kills innocent people, innocent _children,_ god: he may have been a criminal, he may have been a degenerate, but this wasn't what he wanted, this wasn't what he wished for, what he desired, he never wanted to _hurt_ anyone.

He never wanted anyone to die.

And he's contributed to the death of millions, and he's sick to the stomach as he looks at his hands and sees them drenched in blood.

And when he lets himself get caught, he barely holds it together as he chuckles at Ironwood's conceited words, as he asks for a specific little bird that he knew would listen, that one knew would understand. And when he arrives, he shatters, cracking and breaking underneath the pressure as all of it spills from his lips. He tells him how the Apathy destroyed his life and how all he's ever wanted was to keep the only family he has safe, that he only did this to make sure Neo wasn't hurt, how he never asked for the life of crime and how he never asked for the blood that stains his hands a stark, nauseating crimson and he _understands,_ voice reassuring as he holds his shaking hands and tells him everything will be alright.

He had told Qrow everything and twenty years worth of what seemed like meaningless nights and worthless laughs finally meant something, finally meant everything.

His mother once said that your soulmate can translate the languages of your soul and make you feel alive, unscramble the pieces you know by heart to form the most breathtaking serenade.

And that's how Qrow made him feel.

Qrow Branwen and Roman Torchwick had known each other for twenty years and their love was like falling asleep: inching closer and closer and drifting deeper and deeper, and then one more step and it consumes you in seconds until it's all you can see.

But this time was different. He was starry-eyed with his love to notice the demons before, but never again.

They could eat at Roman all they desired, but they would _never_ touch Qrow, and he made sure of it: up until they were fighting at the ruins of Beacon Academy, bullets and blades slicing through flesh and steel. There's too many of them and their Auras are spent as they risk everything to keep the people safe, to keep the streets from staining red.

Then he sees the airship in the sky, and he knows what he has to do.

"Qrow, I got an idea. If I get to the airships, I can shut down Jimbo's little tin cans."

"Roman, you'll die. You'll die if you even try to, and I'm not letting that happen." His voice breaks, because he knows it'll work. He knows it'll give them a chance to save more people.

But the little bird also knows it means he'll never see the millions of stars in emerald green eyes again. Roman smiles tearfully at him, his hand cradling Qrow's face, thumb gently wiping away a tear.

"I know."

And they share one last kiss, one filled with tears and emotion and all the love they never got the chance to say and Qrow melts into it, dread pooling in his stomach as he kisses Roman like it'll be the last one they ever share because they knew it was.

"I'll miss you, little bird."

"Come back to me, apricot." That nickname has always been teasing, meant to annoy the man but now it's filled with tears, filled with sorrow.

And Roman knows why.

"I will."

It's a lie, and they both know it.

Qrow was the last to ever understand.


End file.
